Interim
by GhostoftheMotif
Summary: Germany and Italy seperate. Sick of his family walking on tip-toes around him, Germany starts drinking alone on other countries' land to avoid them. Then America finds him, and Germany learns that sometimes the best friend to have is an acquaintance.


**Author's Note:** This was a birthday present for ladyrandomness on lj.

**Originally Posted:** Feb 20th 2010

**Disclaimer:** Not mine now, nor will ever be.

0o0o0o0o0

There was no right thing to do, no right response, no correct reaction. Every possible turn had connotations that he didn't want to consider, and even the choice to stand still and do nothing felt like an option he couldn't take. It didn't matter that this wasn't the first time it had happened; the rawness of it was never lessened by a repeated instance.

There was no blame to place.

It was something every one of their kind had experienced.

It was something every one of their kind had both thrived and suffered through.

At some point in history, they had all fallen in love with a human, knowing they had a few years at most; a decade or two if the nation was selfish and left when there was no longer any hope for the mortal to find a normal life, whether the human didn't move on because they couldn't forget or because age had stolen the choice from them.

Germany knew Italy wasn't selfish. In three years, maybe a little more or a little less, Italy would pull away and leave her to continue with her short life. The girl was sweet, meek, soft smiles and gentle eyes. She'd make Italy happy until he was forced to give her up. Then when he'd grieved, he'd return to Germany, and they would pick up where they left off with understanding and no guilt between them. If there was one thing he'd learned, it was that he could never hold Italy at fault.

In the meantime, Germany was alone.

He admitted it was self-imposed.

There was a sudden border of empty space around him that Italy used to fill, and without him he felt no desire to fill it with anyone else. He did his work, fulfilled his duties, and stayed apart from Italy's new life as best as he could. His family was worried; Germany could see that in the way Prussia checked his words and tried to be around the house more, in the way Austria shuffled their work together and left Germany with less to do without realizing how badly he needed the distraction, in the way Hungary walked on eggshells around him and looked at him with warm, kind eyes.

What they failed to realize what that he wasn't a child. He wanted normalcy, not to be coddled.

His isolation wasn't disrupted until after the first year.

America found him in a New York bar on an occasion when Germany had left his country to avoid Prussia's heart-felt but aggravating ideas of how to console him. The other nation wormed his way through Germany's monosyllabic shutdowns with a brilliant, unfaltering smile, refusing to relent until Germany finally buckled and _shouted _the truth from pure frustration.

America just stood there, bright eyes comprehending just as much from Germany's mannerisms as from his words. He'd then waved down the man behind the bar, slid some bills across the counter, took a seat on the stool beside him, and by the end of the night had covered both of their extensive tabs over the span of three hours.

"How long has it been?" America asked over the rim of his glass.

Germany answered almost immediately. "Three hundred and seventy six days."

"Christ." America blinked. "Do you keep a calendar by your bed and mark the days off?"

"I don't mark them off." Germany downed the remainder of his glass. "I merely count them."

It was the first time Germany had shown anything but a resolved, reconciled face. America got the reality, first in anger, and then in desperation that Germany was unaccustomed to as the floodgates opened.

That first night was the night when America said the words that replayed afterwards in Germany's mind as a constant, dull hum.

America's smile was still there, but it was different, compassionate rather than daring. "Italy's going to need you when she dies." He shrugged back into his coat as he prepared to leave. "Until then, if you want a friend who doesn't have an ulterior motive… you know where I live. Give me a call." With a final flash of a wider grin, he started towards the door.

Germany had stayed until he'd finished his drink. Then he'd pulled out his cellphone and added another speed-dial. America's candid insistence and responses had opened a door for him. He wanted that door to stay open. Germany had always possessed an eerie aptitude for telling when an offer was important, and he knew that eventually it was one he would take.

0o0o0o0o0

Eventually came three months later.

Germany stepped off the subway, hand going to his pocket for his phone. His eyebrows were knitted together, stare focused on the ground a few feet in front of him, the crowd ebbing and flowing around him. The uncertainty he felt now was of a sort he hadn't felt, hadn't needed to feel, in years. He didn't know what he was hoping for, or why he'd even made the choice to hope to find it with _America_. What he did know what that he needed someone that wasn't as involved in his and Italy's lives, someone who wouldn't have that bias and misleading sense that they understood. America was a good man; that much he trusted.

_Until then, if you want a friend who doesn't have an ulterior motive…_

Germany brought his cell to his ear.

_Give me a call._

He held down the nine. His teeth clenched at the first ring, and again he wondered what he was doing.

"Germany?" America's voice came through on the other end.

"Yes," Germany confirmed after a steadying breath. "Hello, America."

"Hey, man! What's up?" He sounded genuinely happy. The grin was audible even without the visual.

"I'm in New York." Germany's hand clenched and unclenched at his side as he walked, arm ramrod straight.

"Awesome, that's perfect!" There was the sound of rustling as if a paper bag was being shifted. "I'm on my way home right now. Meet ya there? I'll just throw an extra steak on, and-"

Germany's brows furrowed even more. "I'm not sure that's…"

"Oh, c'mon!" he laughed, and it was impossible not to be gripped by it. "We can eat dinner and watch my news. You can make fun of my politicians. It'll be great!"

Germany closed his eyes briefly. He may not know what he was hoping for, but he was hoping, and that was refreshing. "All right."

"Cool! See you in a few then?"

Germany nodded even though the other nation couldn't see him. "Yes. Give me half an hour. Goodbye, America."

"Gotcha. Bye!"

Germany lowered his hand slowly, eyes lifting up to the buildings around him, catching the glint off the stories-high windows as the falling evening began to shine with red, orange, and yellow lights. Then he veered to the edge of the sidewalk and flagged down a taxi.

When he reached America's apartment, the door swung open. The blonde leaned against the doorframe and smiled in welcome. "Day…?" he inquired.

Germany knew he was teasing, but still responded with a stoic, "Four hundred and seventy." He pushed past America and into foyer beyond.

America's smile wasn't quite as bright.

0o0o0o0o0

It started as a monthly ritual, but after the peace the first two gave him (America never _expected_ anything from him; they talked or they didn't, and either way he was receptive and encouraging), it became a weekly one.

Every Thursday, barring any unforeseen meetings that would require a proper night's rest, Germany met America at his New York City apartment. Sometimes they ordered take-out, sometimes America cooked, but Germany was never presented with a meal so overtly unhealthy that he couldn't stomach it; America seemed to have taken Germany's aversion to grease into account.

Immediately after America came home, the hosting nation changed into his pajamas. "I have to be dressed to impress the rest of the day," he'd laughed when Germany had first raised an eyebrow in question. "When I get home, I wanna be comfortable."

They'd grabbed their plates and glasses, and moved to the living room. The television was turned on as they sank back on the couch, America in a baggy t-shirt and loose pajama bottoms, and Germany still in business slacks and a collared shirt, tie loose but still on. America never failed to reach over and muss his hair, declaring that at least _some_ part of him had to be laid-back.

They only spoke about anything of importance once they'd watched the news and that night's line-up of comedians mocking said news. Germany came to appreciate America's ability to both take himself seriously and make fun of himself at the same time without losing a grasp on his identity in the process. It wasn't a common trait, and Germany occasionally felt as though he might smile.

Tonight they ended with Conan, and America flipped to the sci-fi channel for background noise before he settled back with his glass and shot a glance at Germany. "Day…?"

"Five hundred and ninety two," Germany responded lowly, eyes fixed determinedly on the tv screen. "But it's past midnight, so I suppose I should say five hundred and ninety three."

"Damn, man," America breathed out. "I can't wait for the night when I ask that question and you can say _I don't know_. It's not healthy to keep count, you know?"

"As you continuously tell me."

America gave a half-smile that didn't reach his eyes. "It's gotta sink in eventually."

Germany didn't respond at first, leaning back with his arms crossed. "Nothing else has. It seems naively optimistic to suppose this would be different."

"_Naively optimistic_ tends to be a description I pick up a lot," America mused. "But that doesn't mean it isn't possible or worthwhile."

"It's been nearly two years, and I still can't walk past our favorite park or restaurants," Germany said evenly with a certain harshness. "I can't smell paint without thinking of him. I have to leave the house when Prussia takes out his guitar. I can't accept he isn't here, and anything that reminds me of him makes me feel as though he's just down the hall or lying in the grass, and if I walk far enough, he'll be there." Germany's voice didn't change volume or intonation. "It's been nearly two years, and I still look for him."

"Then find him," America suggested. He said it so easily that Germany was both frustrated and pensive. "Just call him. Hear his voice before it drives you crazy. He wasn't just your lover, right? He was your best friend. You aren't going to wreck what he's got just by checking in."

Germany gave a smile that was more of a grimace. "You don't know him the way I do."

"No, I guess I don't. But I still think it'd be good for you."

Germany frowned, stayed silent, and thought.

When Germany paused in his work the next afternoon, he picked up the phone.

It turned out America was wrong.

He felt reassured the moment he heard Italy's voice, but when they hung up, the break felt deeper and more raw than it had before. It was revisiting a wound. Germany thought he'd heard a note of happiness in Italy's voice when he'd heard who was on the other line, and he was glad to have given his friend that much, but as for himself… he wished he'd stayed silent.

_Italy's going to need you when she dies. Until then, if you want a friend who doesn't have an ulterior motive… you know where I live._

It was the first time he'd gone to America twice in one week.

It wasn't the last.

0o0o0o0o0

"Day…?"

"Six hundred and twenty seven," Germany answered wearily.

"Gimme your hand."

_…if you want a friend…_

He did, the length of the couch between them, television blaring, glasses empty.

0o0o0o0o0

Germany was raging, not against the other nation, but against something nameless, fathoms deep. "Do you honestly think I haven't considered that?"

"I think you've thought of it. I don't think you've actually considered it," America said calmly, following his guest's progress as Germany paced in sharp, military movements across the room.

"I don't want anyone else," Germany growled, eyes dangerously cold. "And even if I did, I wouldn't be with someone that I know I'd leave the moment Italy returned. I don't _want_ a distraction, America. I just want to cope long enough to make it through this."

America's grin changed in the subtle way that Germany had become familiar with. "And it would be coping. I'm not suggesting finding a distraction. Not all meaningful relationships have the same qualities you and Italy have. There are different kinds, Germany. You could find someone if you wanted to. You and Italy aren't together right now. There's nothing that says you have to be alone."

Neither spoke up even though it occurred to both that Germany hadn't been alone for quite a while now.

_…you know where I live. Give me a call._

"Day?" America asked in a quiet voice, knowing he was making a point, and hating that it would hurt.

Germany's hands clenched painfully. "Six hundred and eighty."

0o0o0o0o0

Germany watched America from his chair as the other nation gave his speech at the head of the table. It was easier to watch the blonde than to turn his head to the side and catch sight of Italy's contented smile. America's expression was bright and passionate, and even if Germany's mind automatically dissected his words the way he did with everyone, there was no real calculation in his thoughts. He realized with an ironic sort of clarity that he'd come to trust America in a way that set him slightly apart from most of the nations, trusted him on a level that had become personal.

America's eyes met his, and his grin brightened.

Germany managed his own, stiff smile in return.

_…who doesn't have an ulterior motive…_

That was the moment when he knew something had happened that he hadn't intended.

"Day?" America asked as they walked down the hall together towards the reception area.

Germany tried not to see Italy walking ahead of them. "Seven hundred and one."

America smiled, eyes half-lidded. Sad. Germany watched him from the corner of his eye, and wished he could have given a different answer.

It took several weeks for Germany to accept his realization. It only took one for him to decide what he wanted, _needed_ to do.

0o0o0o0o0

America set Germany's plate in front of him, flashing a smile at him as he did so. "I hope it's good. New recipe and all. France was pretty insistent that I try it though… Something about 'garnering a more sophisticated taste.'" He straightened and ran a hand through his hair, still smiling. "I figured you could help me decide if it's a keeper."

"All right," Germany acquiesced, reaching for a fork. At least it was a recipe borrowed from France, rather than certain other members of America's family.

They ate in relative silence, Jon Stewart supplying a source of laughter from America to punctuate the quiet. Every time he laughed, Germany felt his own face soften and a muted sort of fear begin to pulse through his chest and hands. Germany was a man of discipline, but being disciplined meant being aware of what one needed control over. He was fully aware of what he meant to do; he also knew that a year in America's company had been enough to bring him to this point and yet wasn't enough to assuage the guilt.

Germany was leaning forward, hands clasped together, arms resting on his knees. His eyes were on the television, but he neither saw nor heard the content of the screen. He collected himself, steadied his voice, tried to empower it. "America…"

"Yeah?" America asked cheerily, caught in a John Oliver inspired grin.

"You…" Germany wet his lips and swallowed. He was bad at this. "You told me you didn't have an ulterior motive."

There was a long pause in which America reached for the remote to mute the tv. He turned slowly, questioningly to look at Germany.

Germany kept his stare in front of him. "I think…" He swallowed again. The next words came in a murmur. "I think I want you to have one."

A few breaths later, and there was still no response.

Germany could see in his peripheral that America was looking at him, that his eyes had widened, that his lips had parted. The fear became barbed. It scratched at his lungs, made his mind hazy, and for one, blinding, horrible moment he wished he hadn't spoken. He wanted to take the words back into his mouth and simply continue on the way that they had.

Then America spoke, and the fear withered to nothing. "Are… you sure?" The tone wasn't forced or negative. It was…

Germany finally looked up.

America's eyes met his without hesitation.

He studied the other nation's expression carefully before he nodded.

America moved. "Good…" He shifted towards Germany, one arm draped over the back of the couch, the other hand drifting to Germany's face. "Because I've had one for the past two months."

America kissed him, and Germany's eyes fell closed in the first second of contact. Even in this, America was honest, sincere, and self-assured. His mouth was warm and tasted like the meal they'd just had, lips smooth despite the cold outside. Germany's hand lifted to America's hip, and when it did, America straightened onto his knees and swung one over Germany's lap so that he was straddling him. It was forward, fast, _America_; Germany found that he did not mind. The body above him was warm and strong and _present_. That was more than he'd had in two years.

Germany accommodated for the new position, leaning back against the cushions so that he could open his eyes enough to look up at America's face. The other nation's eyes were closed, and he could see a smile at their edges. Their mouths moved, and Germany parted his lips, wondering precisely how enthusiastic America could be.

The answer was very.

Then Germany's teeth pulled gently at America's bottom lip, and America gave a small hum that reminded him of Italy, and he snapped his head forcefully backwards.

America looked down at him with uncertainty and caught the look in his eyes. His face fell, and he smiled just as he always did, but this one was vulnerable, preparing for something painful. "Day…?" he asked, dreading the answer he expected.

Germany watched him for a moment, took in his flushed skin, the almost martyr-like acceptance already crossing his expression, and his face hardened. "One."

His hand tangled in America's hair and pulled him down again.

_Italy's going to need you when she dies. _

_Until then…_


End file.
